Fifteen minutes after Madam Forrester left Earle a light step sounded outside the door, a trembling hand turned the silver handle, and Editha Forrester stood once more in the presence of her lover.
She was somewhat pale and worn, as madam had said; but a lovely flush of expectation and delight had crept into her cheeks, and a joyous light gleamed from her beautiful eyes, as Earle leaped to his feet and went forward to meet her.
No word was spoken for the first few moments—their feelings were too deep, too sacred, for any outward expression; but Earle drew her to his breast and held her there with a strong, tender clasp that claimed her his own forever—that told her they would nevermore be parted while both should live.
Editha was the first to break the significant silence.
“Earle, I am glad you have come,” she said, as she raised her eyes shining with happy tears to read the face she loved so well.
It was the same simple yet hearty greeting that she had given him so long ago on that day before Christmas, when he had come to her. Earle remembered it, and drew her still closer as he thought of her constancy to him through all the various changes of the last four years.
“The wings of the wind were not rapid enough to bear me to you, my own, when I knew that you wanted me; and yet I did not dream of the joy that was awaiting me,” he said, with tremulous gladness.
“Joy and sorrow too, Earle, for papa cannot remain with us long,” she answered, with a sigh.
She still called Mr. Dalton by the old familiar name, for not only would it have been awkward to change, but it would have seemed cruel to the invalid, who in all the world had alone this fair girl to cling to.
But in her heart she thanked God every day that Richard Forrester had been her father instead of Sumner Dalton, while no words could express her joy for the loving mother she had found.